


Only if for a Night

by ByronicHeroics



Category: Captain America (Comics), Invaders (Marvel)
Genre: F/M, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-06 13:39:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/736299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ByronicHeroics/pseuds/ByronicHeroics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky loves Steve, but his partner feels too guilty about their power dynamic to be his lover. Jim loves Toro but can’t stand the thought of taking advantage of him. Somehow, even with all that hurt, something good comes out of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

The Invaders had a commandeered building in Paris for the night, or they officially called it commandeered for the war effort because somehow that feels better than admitting they’re a bunch of burnt out soldiers who broke into a building that had been abandoned by a family trying to flee to the country. It still doesn’t feel right when they go through the medicine cabinets for supplies and raid each closet in hopes of blankets, but they ignore that because the home feels better, warmer, and more comfortable than what they have so often. Bucky could have gone without all of that as he sat on a beautiful old horsehair couch, and he snuggled up under his ugly itchy army blanket as the fire place cracked around them. It was safe because the blackout curtains were drawn, and he focused more on that on than even the little he could stomach of Roger’s and Brian’s current theological debate. There was only one reason he was still sitting there in his exhausted state, and it was one of the cups of tea that Union Jack was making them.

The cup was warm enough to be hot in his hands when Bucky accepted it from the man, and he ignored how that made him want to look over to Steve then; Steve who was always hot like a furnace beside him, who was always there. Steve was drawing out plans on a map with a look of pure concentration, silent and duty-minded as he tapped the pencil nub against his handsomely shaped mouth. Despite what his perfectly taken blue eyes seemed to imply, Steve was not writing to a sweetheart back at home like Toro was. Steve was never writing to a sweetheart; he never shown much interest in the girls who fawned over him and that was what had made Bucky assume. That, the year of art school, and the half finished drawings of naked men he found in Captain America’s personal sketches had made him assume. Bucky was just starting to get used to that warmth in his chest he felt when he thought of the man, the warmth he felt in Steve’s arms when they wrapped around him and pulled him tight when they slept. It was so safe, so inviting, but so very different than what he had assumed.

It had been almost like a hard slap to his face when Steve told him yes and then so quickly told him no. “I’m way too old for you.” Steve had told his partner as they huddled down in the dirt beside each other and then, a day later, when it was Bucky stitching up the wounds Steve had gotten from crawling under barbed-wire, “I love you, but it would just be a perversion of my authority.” Then the next day, wrapped so tightly together under their blankets, huddling close to the warmth that Steve gave off like a fire that kept the night from overtaking them he had spoken again. Steve’s breathing had hitched then, like he wanted to say otherwise, but he knew what his part in the war required. “Maybe when the war is over…maybe then, Bucky. You probably will have forgotten me by then though, and settled down with a dame. You’re going to out-grow this; not like me.” He had promised his friend.

Bucky didn’t think he could ever forget Steve, no matter how long he’d have to wait for him. He didn’t think he’d ‘out grow’ those feelings. He was a good soldier though, and he knew what the unspoken command from the captain had been; let it go. Bucky had only brought it up the one time, but he supposed it was different to be the one to bring it up than to be the one who was caught being different. Steve wanted his sidekick to move on, to try out women, to be normal. Steve was clearly trying his best to do the same with that pretty blond Résistance fighter. Bucky had seen how they met eyes like they were making love and how she let her hand linger just a little too long on his; but Bucky didn’t fault her for her love. Bucky just took it like he didn’t care and grinned that fake propaganda grin when the rest of the Invaders ribbed him about not wanting a step-mother; no, he wasn’t like Tom. Bucky couldn’t think of Captain America as just a father figure, not the way that Tom thought that of Jim. Steve still thought of him as a kid though, and Bucky swallowed the tea fast enough to let it burn his throat when he thought of that.

“Papi, quit!” Tom had declared to some sort of teasing and it knocked Bucky out of his trance when the boy came over to drop on the side of the chair that Jim was sitting in. He was so casual and relaxed with him like nothing could ever be wrong between them. Tom was showing his father some letter he was trying to respond to, and he wasn’t always very good at reading so he needed the man to be serious. He needed help with words since the letters were tightly spaced and left too many options, so Jim helped him with deciphering. It hurt a little bit to see how close the two were like that, with Tom almost ready to fall into the other torch’s lap he was so close. It was only because if Bucky hadn’t been so goddamned stupid, he might still have been sitting like that by Steve. Tom seemed pleased by whatever it had turned out to be in the letter, and he went off to claim a bed with great authority in knowing that he’d be followed quickly by at least two Invaders wanting to claim some of his heat.

Bucky had thought he might take a chance with Tom instead of Steve that night, and so he stretched then and stood up. He put his cup down on the heavy walnut coffee table and walked into the hall, to be by himself for a moment before bed and take a break from the closeness of the night, maybe even say a prayer, in case God still listened. He had slid down to rest his head against his knees, but before his mind could free up even a little his heart ached with the sound of the change in the topic that came so quickly after the sidekicks had left. “I don’t know why both of you insist on bringing boys to fight a man’s war.” Brian was telling them, and Steve might have well have been agreeing with him from the lack of commitment in the words. “It’s to inspire the youth of America.” He was trying to justify, and Bucky could imagine the pain in his friend’s eyes when Roger backed up Brian. “So something like the Yankee version of the Hitler Youth?” He suggested, and Namor laughed either at the comparison, or more likely at Steve’s obvious grief.

“It’s not like that, and you know it. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t compare our partners to some damned brainwashed brats.” Jim’s voice had said sharply, before the captain could answer the question, and he stood up and left the room with clear frustration. Namor called after him, but what was said after that didn’t really matter, because Bucky was looking up right into Jim’s shocking eyes with tears he was trying to blink away before the man would notice. There really was no merciful God for him that night, because the torch looked concerned and knelt down in front of the boy slowly. Jim had used his powers to run an overly hot finger across smooth cheeks to dry the tears; sweeter and gentler than he should have been. “What’s wrong?” He asked softly.

Bucky had shaken his head to try to dismiss the words before he fled from the soothing tone. He wasn’t sure he could take that level of care when he was loath to explain his grief. Fate wasn’t on his side that night, however, because he picked the wrong bedroom to enter. He was alone and without Toro to protect him from continuing inquiries. Jim followed him with the persistence of his nature, and he wrapped his arms around the boy silently when Bucky met his eyes with a look of shame. He looked lost, ashamed, and nothing like the ever confident sniper that he was.

“I’m a queer.” Bucky had finally told Jim mutedly. Jim’s arms wrapped tighter around him instead of pushing him away as he’d expected; he didn’t have the understanding of how wrong it was. “I tried hard not to be, but…but…Steve is…he’s my hero.” Bucky justified, and he didn’t know why he kept telling the torch those things. He didn’t know why he was even admitting them aloud to anyone at all, but it must have been what it felt like to go to confession. He wasn’t asking Jim to forsake him or to turn him away but he couldn’t hold it in once he had started. “He’s not just my hero…he’s…he’s Captain America. He doesn’t…he doesn’t do things wrong like that.”

If Bucky could ever remember a time in the past, even as a child, that he had blubbered and whimpered and cried like that night, he couldn’t name it. Nothing had felt like this when he had been hurt by something before; nothing had been so overwhelming with its grief because he had always had his anger. It didn’t help him with this. He closed his eyes when Jim lifted him up, motion easy as if he was as light as a feather as moved him to snuggle in his lap, holding him close like a child. Jim was just as warm as Steve was, and he stroked his hair in that same soothing way that his father never had, but both of the heroes seemed to think was comforting. Steve had used these same motions after he had torn his sidekick apart over getting in trouble, but Bucky hadn’t been crying so hard then. He had sniffled in shame for disappointing the partner he was so lucky to have, but now the soothing motion just seemed to reinforce that he had really messed up and that none of that was ever going to happen again.

“He probably hates me for it.” Bucky said, and he was ashamed of the amount of self-pity in his tone that came out with that statement. Jim made a low sound in his throat to disagree and let his silver-grey eyes take in the image of the boy cuddled up on his lap, young and lost. He was the same size as Tom, and he was the same soft weight there against his lap, with his neat blue shorts riding up his legs from the pose of his knees drawing up to his chest. The costume called to mind his youth almost as much as the one arm that was wrapped desperately around the torch’s shoulders. Yet nothing did that more than the hand that wiped away his hot tears so quickly. How many times had he seen his own sidekick make that motion when they fought and Tom didn’t want Jim to know he had hurt his feelings? All those times that Jim had argued with him because he just wanted everything to be right because he was supposed to just know how to be a father, and Tom disobeying him didn’t reinforce that. Every time that Jim saw that motion, he hated himself.

“I don’t think he does.” Jim said with a sureness to his tone that he almost never felt when it came to judging other people’s emotions and motivations. He moved his hand from Bucky’s soft auburn hair to run down the boy’s back soothingly. There was a low sob from Bucky in response as he tried to hide the tears that seemed to refuse to stop; it was raw and so uniquely human. “I think that Steve is scared of his feeling for you.” Jim said, because he was a lot sharper than people might have given him credit for; he saw the heartfelt looks that the captain gave Bucky when the younger man’s back was turned. It wasn’t hate that made him deny his partner’s advances, any more than it was hate that kept Jim from telling Tom the truth about the markedly unpaternal feelings he was starting to have for him. It was both shame at the failing and the knowledge that to act on all of those feelings would be an abuse of power and a perversion of trust. Steve was Bucky’s hero, his mentor, his savior and he knew it better than anyone when he saw the adoration in his sidekick’s eyes and heard the desperate need for approval in his tone.

“He knows you’re not a little boy, Bucky, but he also knows that he can’t be your lover and your mentor at the same time.” Jim told him softly and as simply as he could because there was no reason to make this more difficult. It was easier than he would have liked to explain when he was suffering with those thoughts every time that Tom snuggled against him at night as he fell asleep. The soft sniffle that came from Bucky before he spoke again made Jim hold him tighter, and the words made his heart ache even more. “But why not?” Bucky asked him softly, and he could hear the tears in his voice reflecting the same hurt that Jim felt every time he asked himself the same question. “Because it’s not right, Bucky. He’d be taking advantage of your trust because you wouldn’t be able to see him the same way the average person does; you’d believe he was right even when he was wrong.”

Bucky sobbed finally; it just didn’t make any sense to him. “But what’s so wrong about that?” He begged to know, begged desperately as if he were asking Steve himself. Jim could have told him every last thing that was so wrong about it, but he didn’t. Instead, Jim helped Bucky unfasten his jacket and threw it across the room to land on a dresser drawer. The motion seemed to prompt the boy and he did the same with his boots, working them off and dropping them to the side of the bed with a slow inhale. Jim knew the conversation wasn’t forgotten as Bucky fumbled to take off his belt and strip down to just his undershirt and shorts. It wasn’t often that they slept this way, and even though it was so comfortable to slide down against the bed, Bucky couldn’t help but feel vulnerable to be stripped of the power of his costume’s image.

Jim put Bucky in the middle of the bed like a child he wanted to keep safe from the monsters under the bed. He heated himself up just enough to keep Bucky, and whoever would join them later, perfectly warm under the blankets. The boy gave a soft moan of appreciation; he had started to shiver with the mixture of his body reacting to his break down, and his wool costume being stripped away. Jim held him closer as he tried to explain why it was so wrong to not be able to see a flaw in a person, while he tried not to wonder if Tom thought that of him. Jim spoke to him soothingly to try to show he’d talk to him if that’s what he wanted and that he hasn’t cut him off over some perceived wrong. None of that mattered though, because Bucky snuggled back into his hold so perfectly and took Jim’s hand in his own. He may have listened, but he didn’t really hear the words. They didn’t matter, all that mattered was how bad he felt; how impossibly bad he felt and that someone was trying to make it better. It would be the last time Bucky would allow himself to fall asleep with tears still staining his cheeks.


	2. Part Two

Bucky wasn’t sure why it had to be Steve who was pressed on the other side of him when he awoke in the morning, sleeping as peacefully as any soldier ever did. He wondered why it had to be his strong muscular arm wrapped so tightly around Bucky’s waist like he was protecting him from any monsters that might come in the middle of the night. Of course, Bucky knew what the real answer was when he thought about it, the real answer that wasn’t that Steve loved him. Everyone knew what it was. Steve slept beside Bucky that night because Brian and Roger didn’t want to be apart. They always said it was because they were good friends or because they were countrymen, but it didn’t take a lot of effort to figure out what type of friends they were. They were just as fucked up in the head as Bucky was, but they didn’t care and he wondered if that made them worse. Somehow, with all their education and all their money, they weren’t as shamed as the one time bohemian curled beside him was.

Yet for as much as Steve cared about his own sickness, he still gave a soft disappointed groan and pulled his partner back against his chest to hold when the boy tried to sit up. The captain wouldn’t have him, but still, he didn’t want him to leave either. Neither, it appeared, did the raging storm outside of the window and Bucky squirmed closer to Jim to be free of the guilt the enjoyment of Steve’s touch still gave him. He relaxed when the torch’s warm solid arm slid down around him and those beautiful silver eyes opened from their miming of sleep, taking in his nervous expression. “You don’t like storms?” Jim asked softly, because he could tell there was unease behind his eyes that had nothing to do with Captain America’s hand still laying low on the boy’s stomach. “I hate them.” Bucky admitted softly, as a clap of thunder sounded loudly enough to have Steve sitting straight up in the bed with a look of fear that mirrored Bucky’s.

For a moment Jim thought that perhaps it was something about humans he didn’t understand and hadn’t noticed before; that they simply were frightened of thunder and lightning. The thought vanished quickly when Steve babbled something about their plans as he pulled on his pants. Bucky watched him, and there in that moment, was the artist behind the soldier, all blurry-eyed and beautiful in his imperfections. Captain America was only perfection, he was inherently flawless, but Steve Rogers was rubbing sleep from his eyes and lighting a cigarette before he even started to button his shirt. “Namor.” He was trying to explain, and white smoke escaped his mouth in delicate waves as he spoke, swirling around him. “Namor has to stop this, because this is going to ruin everything.” That was the thing about explosives; they couldn’t get wet.

However, that was also the thing about the prince of Atlantis; he couldn’t be displeased or he would willingly let all of their plans crumble to dust to prove he was not to be toyed with. Steve ran a hand through his ruffled blond hair to try to give it some sort of order or style, cursing softly as he did, and Bucky felt a knot in his stomach. It was so common, so unlike the image he upheld, to hear those coarse words come out of the captain’s mouth.

Bucky could almost imagine him with paint stained hands in that sad, seedy little apartment with framed poetry written by his mother hung on the paint-chipped walls. He was glad when Steve finally fixed his tie and left; he wasn’t sure he couldn’t handle those images at the time. He wasn’t sure that he could see another layer to the man he already had to stop loving. It was hard to do that already, when everything that Steve did always made Bucky want to love him more; slowly it had become noticeable that all the stupid little things he did were just as endearing as his greatest moments of heroics. Steve Rogers was just as enchanting as Captain America.

Bucky would never understand how people had once compared Jim to the Devil or how they still whispered cruel comments behind his back, because it seemed like Jim read him better than any human ever could have. The tone the torch spoke in was calm, gentle and as understanding as ever, yet they both knew that he only chose to change the subject to give Bucky the relief of imagining that he wasn’t so easy to read. “So why do you hate rain so much? I know why I hate it, but you’re not liable to turn into a damp cat from it, are you?” Jim said softly, and he rested a hand on Bucky’s shoulder to settle the boy back against his chest, stroking his hair tenderly.

“I don’t know. I hate the way it feels to go out in damp wool; makes me smell like a hobo.” Bucky said lowly, darkly, and Jim made a sound of disbelief that was so very human. It was sarcastic, teasing and delightfully personal in the way that made Bucky feel comfortable with pulling the blankets around them to talk for a little bit longer. It was still so dark outside. It couldn’t even be 2 AM yet, and neither of them would be able to convince Namor to stop. They weren’t needed. “We used to have some bad storms in Shellbyville.” Bucky finally replied. “Tornados would come through, and that was all kind of distant. We never got struck…but we had to go down in the basement and sometimes when we came out…We could see all the destruction everywhere else. Houses would have been blown down into piles of brick and stone and people would have died under the rubble. Every time I hear the wind whistling like that…it makes me remember that.”

“I could see why that would scare you.” Jim told Bucky, and the next words he said were stronger, firmer. They were the words he would say to Tom over and over, no matter how many times they were rejected. “I’ll keep you safe.” He promised, and Bucky laughed at the words in the same way. They didn’t want to hear it, not as boys who were trying so hard to be men. “Gee, Jim, gonna catch the rain on fire?” He inquired, and the torch squeezed him tighter in his arms as if he wanted to hold in that joking tone that was given a brief reprieve from misery. “Quit laughing, I’m serious. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.” Jim promised, despite the fact that it hurt to know that might not be as possible as he would liked. He would keep the deal to the best of his ability, down to the very last day, to the moment where it was no longer within his control to save the boy and all that laughter finally would stop.

Bucky looked down at his rough calloused hands when he heard the words; he appreciated the gesture, the protective nature – despite the fact that if anyone on the team needed protecting it wasn’t him – and he wished he knew what he should have said at that moment. He wanted to just accept it, snuggle close and stare up at Jim in a way that would leave such a soulful statement that it wouldn’t matter what he said, but he was Bucky Barnes not Betty Davis. He wanted to tell the man thank you, and he wanted to make it clear that he meant it but all he could do was mumble “I can take care of myself.” It felt stupid to say, like he was still a kid pouting at some perceived wrong, but he didn’t want any of the guys treating him like he was a dame.

“I know.” Jim agreed, and he knew that Tom would have said the very same thing despite the many occasions which he had been more than happy to be saved by his mentor. It was the thing about boys their age, he had found; they were not as taken as girls by that promise. They believed that they needed to be the one to protect, not the one to be protected, to prove that they were men already. Bucky was pouting, in the way that Toro might have after being scolded and in such a way that it went against his very desire to prove that he was mature. Jim reached forward to cup the boy’s face in his palm, looking down into his eyes with a slow smile as he examined his features. The gaze that returned was searching, somehow naïve in the motion despite all the darkness that he had seen. “Still, sometimes I’d like to be able to do that for you.” Jim insisted. “You’re a great boy, Bucky.”

“Sure, Papi.” Bucky teased, and the last word was so mocking and bitter out of his mouth, nowhere near as sweet as the way Tom said it. It had the same effect though, the same warm feeling of appreciation that just made Jim feel wanted. He mocked tapped Bucky’s cheek for the tone and gave him a kidding firm look that still made the sidekick shrink down into the bedding like a little boy. “You know, if you were my son, what do you think I’d do?” He inquired, and he hadn’t expected the response to be quite as telling of the boy’s mental state as it was.

“Gee, you’d probably be pretty ashamed.” The sniper replied, and he rolled over in the blankets so he wouldn’t have to face Jim any more. No one seemed to have awoken but Steve, so Jim didn’t feel so bad to slide down behind him and wrap his arm around Bucky’s waist like a lover. “I’d be proud of you for being so responsible.” He informed him softly, because that’s what he wanted…what he needed…to hear. “But I would still hold you close till the storm blew over completely. It would just be you and I together, and I would keep you warm under the blankets like this.” Jim guided and he let himself heat up enough to make the boy sigh. “I’d make you feel safe no matter what I had to do.” He promised, and Bucky’s hand slowly found his, entwining their fingers together as he listened.

The younger man’s breathing was slow, careful and controlled. He licked his lips before he replied, tone guarded. “Toro’s real lucky to have such a good pa.” Bucky informed him, but he guessed that Jim probably wouldn’t have been holding Tom this way. He wouldn’t have been holding the boy to him like he was his wife, or letting him feel the beginning of his interest pressing against his backside. Jim wasn’t human; he couldn’t have known better, even when he knew better than any of them. He didn’t know better, but Bucky didn’t care, he wanted that closeness. “I’d like it real well if you were my Pa…and…when you were holding me…sometimes we could…we could get to talking.”

Jim finished the words for him. “Then maybe,” He suggested. “I might do something for you that no one else is brave enough to do.” Something that after all of the horrible things that he had done, all the blood on his hands, and the nightmares that still woke him…Captain America still wouldn’t do. It was the balance on the thin line that made him still feel that he was good. It didn’t change Jim, though; he had no soul to lose from touching Bucky like a lover, even when he closed his eyes and pretended it was Tom instead.

“What’s that?” Bucky inquired, and he gave a small sigh of excitement when Jim’s hand slid down to rest on his thigh. The simple motion sent twinges like electricity through him, and the warm heavy hand gripped his leg. “Love you like you need.” The android replied, and he leaned down to capture Bucky’s lips in a kiss. The boy was startled by how warm his breath was, that his lips were nearly hot against him and that his motions were gentle and careful. Jim, in the same spirit, was thrown by how cool the returning kiss was; cold like the rain which had frightened him and passionate enough to rival the cracking thunder of the clouds outside. It was nothing like kissing Toro would have been. The boy’s temperature would have risen to match his, and their flames would have danced against each other as they touched and the motion would have been naïve and searching. With Bucky it was icy and an unending reminder that this was not his sidekick, and that this boy knew far more than his years should have allowed.

Bucky’s teeth nipped at Jim’s lower lip, and he closed his beautiful eyes and let his tongue brush at the side of the man’s mouth. It was far more than Tom would have known; this boy had explored and experimented with girls more than his own sidekick and it helped to break the spell of that momentary self-doubt. He wasn’t so entirely naïve, not so entirely virginal and pure as Tom was. Bucky’s hand moving down to press against Jim’s arousal promised that, and the sure motion of his hand stroking him was the final proof enough that Bucky was no innocent. The kisses moved from Jim’s mouth to his neck then, and he sighed in pleasure at the feeling of the boy’s mouth against him like that, nipping and biting but unable to leave a mark against the synthetic skin.

Slowly then, Bucky moved and he was under the blankets, tearing Jim’s pants down his firm muscular thighs. His mouth was hot and tempting against Jim’s cock, and it took him a moment to manage to control the urge to thrust forward up into the boy’s mouth. The gentle tremble of Bucky’s lips around him was almost too much, and Jim closed his eyes for a moment to intensify the feeling of his cool mouth working against him eagerly. His eyes opened again quickly when he heard the creek of the door, and in the doorway stood a bleary eyed Tom. Wordlessly, the younger man came to get in bed beside Jim. “I had the worst dream.” He told him softly; Bucky sucked harder when he realized who it was. It was a touch of jealousy which drove him to continue, a twinge of cruelty he hadn’t realized he had inside of himself which wanted Jim to be in this position.

“What was it about?” Jim inquired, and Bucky could hear him swallowing audibly before he spoke. Jim was nervous that he might be caught, that it might have been wrong to continue, but he wasn’t nervous enough to make any motion for the other boy to stop what he was doing. Jealousy hit the sidekick hard; he missed the days when Steve still spoke to him with all of that tenderness and affection. The days before Steve had known that Bucky would have liked to be doing this to him. He swirled his tongue around Jim’s cock, tears burning his eyes in a mixture of shame and hatred. It was so unfair that he had been born with this sickness, and he couldn’t just be as happy as Tom was with being only a partner and only a friend.

Tom settled himself beside Jim, moving into the crook of his arm so he could rest his head against the man’s chest as he spoke. “I dreamt that we didn’t win…that all of this was for nothing.” The boy explained sadly, and Bucky felt a tear trickle down his cheek as he sucked harder against the man. He had the same dream so many times, he and Tom talked about it together, but there was the one thing that made it so different in Tom’s. “All of this was for nothing and Ann and I never got to be together.” There was the possibility for Tom that once this was all over, he would be able to be happy. It wasn’t that Bucky didn’t want Tom to be happy; he wanted him to be the happiest man alive…he just wished that he could be happy along with him.

Bucky moved down as far as he could, just barely choking around Jim’s arousal when the man shifted under him. He was moving a knee upwards to make the blankets’ movements seem less obvious, and the motion made it feel like he was fucking the sidekick’s mouth. “Tom, we’re not going to lose.” Jim promised, and he sounded just like Steve did whenever he gave some promise that seemed so impossible to keep. It was as if he was saying that everything would be alright, but he was the only one who believed it. How could he be so sincere, act so virtuous, walk with that swagger of pride…and still be intimate with a man as if it were nothing to be ashamed of?

“You really think so?” Tom inquired, and he snuggled closer to Jim to get comfortable there. It was still early in the night and he could stand to sleep for as long as they’d be able to before they left; Steve and Jim often forgot how much more sleep average humans needed than them. “I really think so. I wouldn’t tell you that otherwise.” Jim said and he was glad his son didn’t seem to hear any hitch to his breathing as their bodies touched. Bucky seemed to be working even harder underneath the blankets now, and he could feel the tears sliding down the boy’s face to land against his hipbones. He wanted to reach down and pull him up, but he couldn’t, not with Tom beside him. It was anything but pleasant to know that Bucky was upset and he couldn’t help him, that it was likely his fault now. It was even worse that watching Toro’s beautiful face now was making it hard to control his approaching orgasm.

“It’s okay.” Jim said and the words were intended for them both. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Papi.” Tom replied finally and Bucky choked a bit around Jim at hearing that. His throat tightened as the man’s body tensed under him in climax, urged on by his son’s gentle voice and youthful disheveled appearance. He relaxed slowly then; face never even changing enough to give himself away. The orgasm left the boy’s mouth free of any reminder of their union; apparently androids didn’t leave a mess but Bucky swallowed firmly around him as if they did anyhow. He moved carefully to lay his head against Jim’s thigh then, letting the last of his tears fall there. 

After several moments, Tom relaxed into his father enough to sleep again fitfully. None of them slept peacefully these days, and Tom was worse for it all, because none of them seemed to remember he didn’t have the benefit of a soldier’s training to pull him through. Jim frowned at the sight, but didn’t dare to try to comfort him; it was sleep even if it wasn’t pleasant. His hand snaked under the blanket to rest against Bucky’s shoulder when he was sure his son wouldn’t awake and he pulled the boy upwards from under them. He could read his expression well enough to know not to speak. Instead he pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, guiding him to lie on the other side of him, an arm wrapped tightly around him. Things would be better. They had to be.


	3. Chapter Three

That night the resistance group had returned from their mission, ever worn and dirtied yet without having lost the look of determination in their tired eyes. It was the determination of a people who had already lost, yet refused to remain so. They had lost numerous members to the enemy but none of them were willing to acknowledge the pain of that yet. Some would never be willing to acknowledge it, clinging to that shimmer of hope and freedom till their dying days. The deaths had to be for something greater, and so just as much as for their independence, they were going to be blood sacrifices for the lives that still carried on. The names would be a reminder to live each day with gratitude, so the return was celebrated and the losses were tucked into their hearts for a later day. It was supposed to be a joyous occasion and so it was forced to be a joyous occasion. 

The drinking that followed was meant to do two things; suppress their urge to mourn and force them to commemorate a victory. For some, it did just that. Certainly, Steve could only argue so heatedly against the shiny red lips that captured his and the tiny little hand that gripped his hair tightly to hold him still. She hadn’t needed to drink to be able to have him like this, but she was the Résistance’s leader. Their celebration was hers. The woman was so fearless that Bucky would have been a fool to hate her, though everything she did reminded him of every longing. The way that she had settled on Steve’s knee with birdlike grace and the manner that she whispered sweet nothings in the captain’s ear like they were orders was enviable. No, he didn’t dare to hate her for his jealousy and perversion. He forced himself to look to the others instead.

They weren’t all so lucky, because no one could be so goddamned lucky as the two lovers were in that moment. Tom was certainly living proof of that; with the wreckage of his first drunk finally catching up to him in the late hours. He hiccupped sadly into his hand before a whimper escaped him, trembling in confusion as he became struck with how tired and dizzy he was beginning to feel. That one low whine was what had Bucky ending up dragging his friend to bed, half supporting him and grumbling threats to leave him if he got sick. He didn’t, however, so Bucky tucked him into the pile of blankets on their borrowed bed. He slumped against the wall like the sullen teenage boy he really was then, because he could hear Brian and Roger in the other room. The mattress was creaking just enough to give them away, and now and then Brian practically mewled. 

Bucky had intended to go out into the living room to avoid the unintended voyeurism. It was an all out horrible position to be in, so he had snuck out as quietly as possible to return to the living room. The Résistance had found their way back to their hiding places, Steve doubtlessly among them, and so Bucky had expected to simply curl up on the sofa and sleep. He was given no such reprieve from his torrid thoughts, however, because Jim was still there. He was sitting on the sofa, legs crossed at the knees and newspaper in hand. The lamplight he was reading by played over his golden hair, bright as if was constantly ablaze. Could no man in Bucky’s life be human in their flaws? They all seemed, instead, to be images of masculine perfection that tormented him with their faultlessness.

Jim had looked up with those luminous silver eyes, and the way he had smiled was like there was no one he could have loved more. “Come here.” He encouraged. He had motioned Bucky towards him with a hand, so Bucky had gone to him. Jim pulled the boy to sit astride his lap and cupped his smooth face with a just too warm hand. The eyes that looked him over were tender, and any pity that had once been in them was well hidden now. That had probably just been because Jim was so good at acting, but it didn’t fail to make Bucky’s heartbeat speed like a silly dame’s anyhow. Warm lips caressed his slowly and Jim’s hand rubbed hot circles against his back, as if he was apologizing for the touch. Jim’s lips moved lower then, tracing the line of his neck and shoulders. Bucky’s mouth fell open at the feeling; the feverish heat of the man’s body made the teasing touch all the more sensual.

Bucky promised himself that he didn’t care if Steve was with that girl right now. He didn’t have time to care about all that shit – or at least, he could ignore it – as long as he thought about Jim’s touch. He couldn’t have known that Jim was making similar promises to himself or that he was pretending the too cool skin that he was peppering with kisses was just as warm as his own. It wouldn’t have mattered if he had, though. Bucky moaned softly at the firm hand which ran up his inner thigh, settling heavy and just so close to his arousal. Geez, he wasn’t a virgin or anything. He shouldn’t have been this eager, but he’d be a liar if he pretended that Jim was anything but striking in his own right. It was almost like Valentino was the one teasing him with caresses.

Jim wasn’t the least put off by his enthusiasm, and he let his hand move to cup Bucky’s hardness through his trousers. The motion was promising and Bucky’s balance faltered for his squirming in encouragement. He braced himself with a hand to Jim’s shoulder, trying to use his gaze to urge the android to just get on with it. Jim had let his free hand lift Bucky’s chin in contemplation, smiling slowly upon seeing the boy’s mixture of want and frustration. It was such a perfect little pout. It almost made him consider just taking pity on him, and giving him a quick rough orgasm. That wasn’t really what either of them wanted, though. They were just filling in for someone else when they were together, and Jim knew just how to perform his role.

“How much did you have to drink tonight?” Jim had inquired sternly, frowning as he spoke. Bucky groaned; how was wanting to screw related to that now? “Come on, ‘Papi.’ Not that right now!” Bucky replied in a loud whisper, because there was a hand on his cock and he didn’t care how many drinks he’d had before it had ended up there. As soon as the words had escaped his lips, though, the hand moved. Immediately it delivered a smart slap to the perfect curve of the boy’s bottom, instead. “That’s an awfully fresh tone, considering your position.” Jim informed him, and his expression remained unyielding.

Bucky’s face flushed at the slap; spanking had started to make him feel weird and dirty ever since Cap had discovered it was no longer an effective punishment. There had been that awkward moment where his best friend had helped him off of his lap and told him that it ‘wasn’t so unusual’ to react the way he had. He had just wanted to die. Humiliation wasn’t supposed to get you worked up in that way, pain wasn’t supposed to excite you. Bucky was just all types of screwed up. “Well, James?” Jim had asked, and he patted the curve of Bucky’s backside firmly to prompt him. It did them no justice to pretend this wasn’t exactly what they both needed from each other. 

“It sure is, old man.” Bucky informed him without a second thought. His expression was just so bratty and tone so full of youthful spunk that it almost made the declaration believable. Jim tutted. There wasn’t enough time for Bucky to realize how odd it felt to be lifted up by Jim, before he found himself being roughly bent over the arm of the sofa. His breathing sped just from Jim reaching in front of him to unfasten his trousers and he hurriedly helped him tug them down his thighs. The impatient and fumbling attempt to rid himself of the garment made the android smile. The vigor that Bucky had in his every movement was so spectacularly boyish; in another setting it would have been sweet.

“If you think getting drunk and mouthy makes you an adult, you’re in for a surprise. You’re still just a naughty little boy to me.” Jim scolded, and how mercilessly Bucky would have teased Tom if he had known that was Jim’s exact method of admonishment. The words sounded rehearsed from some bobbysoxer movie but his deep radio star voice made even such a silly attempt titillating in its own right. His spanking was harsh and brought a hand down against Bucky’s backside hard enough to gain a sharp gasp and leave behind a smart red mark. It was odd to think, that this would have been so simple to hand-wave away. It was still how they treated the boys even with every contribution that the two of them made. 

Bucky’s low breathy moans made it difficult for Jim to gauge the level of enjoyment, as they were just as earnest in their discomfort as Tom’s were. His physical reactions, on the other hand, made it clear that Jim had read his interests particularly well. The slaps fed a sick, hot, and masochistic desire within him because for as much as he wanted the hurt for the stimulation it still wasn’t so far removed from punishment. The boy was practically shivering with desire by the time the hand stilled and when Jim brushed fingers across his lips, he opened his mouth to accept them eagerly. Bucky’s mouth may have felt cold around Jim’s fingers but the way his tongue traced them was captivating in its obscenity. Jim let him continue just long enough to dampen them sufficiently. 

Bucky’s knuckles turned white from his hold on the sofa and he choked back his groans as much as possible as the fingers slid into him. The penetration burnt from the shoddy lubricant and it was just too much too soon when there had been nothing like this before. The thrusting came just as quickly and he was in no way ready for another finger to slide in along with the first two. That was half of the reason it felt so obscenely good; because it hurt just enough to ground him to the dirty reality of it. The other reason was the android pressed so close to him this way, hard flat chest against his back and breath painfully hot against his cheek. Jim was picture perfect masculinity, and it was impossible to forget that he was subject to that in this position. 

Jim held back no force in the motion of claiming him and he slapped Bucky’s trembling hand away when the boy moved to touch his aching cock. A panting whine of need escaped him when relief seemed so far out of reach. Bucky pushed forward to rub himself across the arm, hoping to just have enough friction from that. That was punished by the bending of Jim’s fingers in a way that made the boy feel sparks run up his spine. He bit his lip harshly to mute the groan of pleasure and rocked back to meet the touch again. He was twisting on the balls of his feet and lowering his upper body in hopes of being gifted the feeling again. He was hot with shame; this was how women got taken and there was nothing more amazing.

Another spark of electricity ran through him; it was almost too powerful to even enjoy. The whole scenario was nearly overwhelming to his senses, yet Jim wasn’t done surprising him. His fingers heated inside the boy, hot and distinct as if a reminder of how Bucky was just being fucked open with no end in sight. He groaned low in his throat and Jim’s hand covered his mouth to muffle the sound. The fingers more quickly, spreading just enough that each thrust forward burned and ached till they found that spot inside once more. The noise of the boy’s climax was keening, and he fell limp against the sofa as Jim worked his fingers free. It was painfully empty to have the fingers gone, and he was so spent, and so tired that he didn’t dare to move.

Jim simply moped up the mess with a kerchief and tugged his trousers up once more before lifting the boy into his arms. Bucky wrapped his arms around the man’s neck, freshly debauched yet reassured by his friend’s tenderness. Every bit of Jim ached with the familiarity of being the provider of that sense of safety and comfort. It was everything that he longed to be and it made every circuit sing with happiness. It was such a struggle to let go of that role with Tom when there was no promise or surety of what would replace being his ‘Papi.’ There was no promise that he could have this again with Bucky either, so when he returned to the bedroom to settle with a boy in either arm he didn’t feign sleep. He wanted to forever remember the softness of Bucky’s cheek resting over his heart and the perfect harmony of Tom’s heat rising to match his. For just one night, Jim wanted to be no greater hero than simply ‘Papi.’


End file.
